The Road Not Taken
by x Miss I x
Summary: Post Series 3 CS. A series of vignettes that explores Mary's journey towards moving on. Each chapter will be set in a different time period after that day. Most likely AU. Title is based on the poem by Robert Frost.
1. 1 Week Later

_Hello!_

_I was originally planning a happier story, however this has been on my mind now for some time. The happier story will come after this one. __It has been sad to write, but JF didn't want to end the show where he planned and wanted it to go on, assuming everyone would be on board with him. So this happened. _

_This is essentially a series of vignettes that explores Mary's journey towards moving on and each chapter will be a different time period, so please bear with me :) All dates are based on the time period after Matthew's death._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey. But if I did, I would have ended it at series 3 where it was supposed to end._

* * *

**1 Week Later...**

Mary held the pillow tightly in her arms as she fervently prayed for sleep to claim her. She lay in her usual position on the bed, her arm draped over the extra pillow, which now acted as Matthew, who was no longer there. Anna had kindly granted her this new pillow, without question, and never commented on how each morning she found Mary wrapped tightly around it, like a child refusing to part from its favourite toy.

But it was forever cold, however much she tried to create warmth. Everything was cold now.

She hated the nights particularly. The days were already extremely painful, but the nights were excruciatingly so; when she felt his loss the most. That was their time; when they could be alone without interruption. When they could enjoy one another and take pleasure in the other's company, in all ways that mattered; sometimes with words, sometimes without. Words were not always a requirement.

They had become quite skilled at communicating without them.

Mary had desperately hoped that imagining his presence beside her would console her aching heart. But it was futile. She couldn't see him, no matter how hard she tried. It only resulted in more anger that he was lost to her for good. Anger which swiftly led to despair and caused her body to erupt in fierce sobs.

Why couldn't she see him? Matthew Crawley was never far from her thoughts and imaginings when he was alive, but it seemed that in death, he really had been taken away from her in every form. All but one: their son.

Her little boy, who really was the light of her darkness.

The words from her father a week ago still repeated endlessly in her ears; hollow sounds that would forever haunt her.

_He's gone._

She could hardly breathe. She stared at her father for the longest time, frozen, until she ordered to be left alone when no one would tell her anything otherwise.

Even now her breath would catch as her heart thumped erratically as she remembered the fear and panic that overtook her as the words and all they meant sunk in. How her body convulsed beyond her control and she swallowed the intense waves of emotions that threatened to overtake her.

She demanded her baby and leapt from her hospital bed, determined to see the body of her husband. People argued and attempted to placate her as she strode fiercely down the corridor, baby in arms, and insisted on being shown to his room.

No pain was worse than the pain in her heart.

Pausing to compose herself, Mary carefully placed her hand on the door in front of her. A prayer subconsciously formed in her mind, but she welcomed it. She needed it. Moving forwards, she tentatively pushed the door open, and her heart stopped when she saw Isobel Crawley, desolate and distraught, sitting by her son's bedside, stroking his hair.

Mary quietly closed the door behind her and stood there, holding her own precious child close to her heart as she watched Isobel cradle hers.

"I won't be long my dear," Isobel sniffed, wiping her eyes and nose with a handkerchief.

"No Isobel, really. Take your time with him." But the words sounded distant even to her own ears.

Everything else was a blur. Memories to be relived another day.

The baby fidgeted in her arms, the only sign of life in the lifeless room.

New life: a reminder that life still goes on, no matter what happens. However painful it may be.

Mary buried herself further into the bed, as deep as she could go, and nestled her face into the pillow.

But it was still no use.

The pillow wasn't nuzzling her face in return, nor was it wrapping its arms comfortingly and protectively around her. She would never feel his arms about her again. Never hear his breathing as he slept. His slight discomfort as he fought off a nightmare whilst she soothed him back to sleep. His lips on hers and other parts of her as they bid each other goodnight and feeling him caress her in the early hours of the morning, knowing that daylight would force them out of their safe haven.

Never again.

Now there was no safe haven. No comforting retreat. No husband to take her in her arms and love her the way no one else could. No one to talk to, communicate with or banter with in the special way that was uniquely theirs.

Following his body down the aisle, she had never felt more alone. Eyes studied her from all sides, but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of acknowledgement, regardless of their purpose and intention. She was there for one person only.

As his body was lowered deep into the ground, she felt an indescribable pain, and an unbearable urge to suddenly be alone with him. The cruel irony threatened to break her even more. The further he drifted away from her, the more she was losing of herself.

She had lost a significant part of her; the part of her which flourished and nurtured her whole being.

The part which combined Lady Mary Crawley and Mary Crawley and allowed them to live and work in tandem, and be loved all the same.

He knew a part of her which no one else did; a part which she did not voluntarily allow him to access, but he did anyway. Matthew Crawley was in love with every part of her; every strength and every flaw, and she loved him so very much for that and for everything he was.

As the darkness remained, Mary let the tears fall freely now, still struggling to come to terms with her severe loss.

She knew what she had to do next. But she needed strength first.

She prayed.

* * *

_TBC..._


	2. 2 Weeks Later

_Hello!_

_Apologies for the delay, but thank you for your alerts, reviews and messages. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey. But if I did, I would have ended it at series 3 where it was supposed to end._

* * *

**2 Weeks Later...**

Brahms's "Lullaby" tranquillised the occupants of the nursery as it played on the gramophone.

Mary caressed the miniscule fingers of her son, gently moving his arm to the rhythm of the music as he clutched onto her finger. His eyes had drooped closed some time ago, but Mary clung on to the warm comfort he was bringing; the only warmth in her life.

She felt empty without him.

The thought of parting with him was unbearable.

When she was finally alone with her husband, and Isobel had left the small family together in his room, Mary felt completely helpless and overwhelmed. She willed him to move and fixated her gaze on him so intently her eyes began to water; they would have done so anyway.

She tilted her head to the side and silently pleaded with him to awaken from his peaceful slumber to greet his family. To once again show her that joyous smile as he first set eyes on their little prince; one she would take with her to the end of her days. But he wouldn't. He couldn't. She would never see it again, other than in the scene that lives on in her memory. It was never captured in a photograph. They hadn't got to that yet. But it was her precious memory that she would cherish forever.

Wanting to be close to him, she carried their son over to his sleeping form. He was so pale, but so serene. He took her breath away.

She sat on the bed beside him and placed a trembling hand on his still chest. Her heart seemed to beat double to compensate for his silent one and it thumped painfully as she attempted in vain to remain composed and fight the tears away.

Their son squirmed in her arms and before she could think otherwise, she lifted him and laid him along his father's body, where he curled and drifted back to sleep. A soft agonising gasp escaped her when she saw their baby cling onto a piece of Matthew's clothing in his little fist, but she couldn't help a minute smile at her son's actions.

She broke down quietly and clung to him herself, resting her forehead on the crook of his neck, desperate for him to feel them.

To know that they were there and how much they wanted him, needed him, and would always long for him.

She couldn't recall exactly how they had come to leave that room, but she didn't want another memory of her parting from him. She couldn't bear it.

Declaring to Isobel that she felt like half herself without Matthew was the absolute truth. A part of her soul had been ripped from her. She felt lost, and ever so incomplete. Never had she imagined that Lady Mary Crawley would ever feel this way.

She knew she could not stay this way. It was not possible. She had responsibilities, even more so now. Not only was she a mother, but it was her duty to continue the legacy that her darling Matthew had been working hard to create for their future.

The words in Matthew's will had touched her heart immensely.

She could not let the men in her life down. She would not.

It hurt terribly, knowing that he would not be by her side to begin this new journey. This was not a path she had ever considered taking, not now. But she had been led here by some cruel twist of fate and had no choice but to continue on.

Silent tears began to fall down Mary's face as she tenderly stroked her son's soft cheek, so much like his father's.

Fear was creeping up her body as the daunting prospect ahead of her sunk in. She had left matters concerning the estate to Matthew, all the while knowing that she was being consulted every now and again. But now she must be active in her decision making, fighting her case, protecting their son's future, with no one to consult. The thought of doing it alone frightened her, though she would never admit it to a soul.

She closed her eyes and willed the doubt away.

Her heart cried for Matthew, and she prayed to him, in all ways that mattered.

* * *

_TBC..._


	3. 1 Month Later

_Hello!_

_Thank you for your alerts, reviews and messages. I thought I'd post this chapter now, as I'm not sure when I'll next be able to update. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey. But if I did, I would have ended it at series 3 where it was supposed to end._

* * *

**1 Month Later...**

Mary pulled her shawl tighter around her as she entered the study. She cocooned herself in the garment as she reacquainted herself with the room. A room she had not entered since...before.

It did not take her long to find what she was looking for. She knew they'd be there. Why wouldn't they be? It was where her husband had left them. They had not been touched since.

Her feet moved of their own accord. She was being pulled further into the room, but slowly. A heavy force followed Mary, weighing her down as she fought against herself. Was she ready?

Her heels clicked loudly on the floor and echoed round the room, the sound bouncing and disturbing the silence. Did they always do that? The walk to the table was an arduous task and Mary felt like a trespasser, her heart beating rapidly in trepidation as she held her breath painfully before, she arrived.

There they were. Waiting, like he'd already simplified this laborious task for her. She gingerly stroked the books and papers dispersed on the table in the study, following marks where his fingers would have travelled.

But then she looked up.

It was quite a dreary day although it was afternoon. The sun battled to make its presence known against the thick clusters of darkness in the sky. The result produced a bleak illumination of the grounds of Downton Abbey. There was a stillness that had failed to present itself even after the death of Sybil. Downton felt his absence greatly.

She breathed a heavy sigh and slowly turned back to the items on the table. She carefully lifted a piece of paper to identify its significance. Resolutely, she put it back down and sat at the table, determinedly taking one of the heavier books and prized it open, ready to examine it. There lay figure after figure, record after record. Her breathing hitched at the daunting prospect of what lay ahead for her.  
_  
Goodness, no wonder you found this task so tedious. But you persevered...because I asked it of you and because it was your duty. My darling..._

The door of the study shot open and Lord Grantham strode in reading a letter. Mary's head rose at the disturbance, but then dropped it back to the books.

"Mary," he said, finally noticing her, but more forcefully than he intended.

He was perplexed by her presence and quite unsure what else to say. She had barely left her upstairs quarters since the life altering incident, devoting her time to her own solitude and her son.

"Good afternoon papa," she replied emotionlessly, continuing her examination of the books, but like a woman with a heavy heart. "What brings you in here?"

Lord Grantham was taken aback by the question, a question more fitting coming from him.

"I was going to collect some paperwork for Murray."

"Oh? May I ask what paperwork?" She enquired slowly.

"Just some things concerning the estate," he dismissed coolly, albeit uncomfortably. But he hesitantly added, "Including some of the papers you're holding, my dear."

"Were you not going to consult me?" She asked firmly, turning to face him now.

"Mary..."

"Did you not think that I would wish to be consulted on matters which previously involved my husband?"

Her voice remained steady, but her eyes grew dark. They were both aware that they were treading on uneasy territory.

Lord Grantham shifted awkwardly, searching for an effective way to pacify his daughter, though he knew it would likely be futile.

"I thought it may be too much for you, given the circumstances."

"Did you really," Mary commented wryly. "Are you certain that it's not because you do not think me capable of the task ahead, and would prefer that I did not get involved?"

"My dear, managing the estate is not an easy task..."

"Matthew was perfectly capable," She asserted.

"Matthew is not here anymore," he reminded delicately.

Mary suppressed a flinch. "But I am," She asserted, sitting up straighter.

"It's not as simple as that," he sighed.

"Is it not?" She frowned sceptically. "I am more than capable."

"It is much more complicated and involved than you think," he explained, unsuccessfully attempting to persuade his daughter to reconsider. "And you have a child to consider."

"All the more reason for me to be involved," she reproached, and Robert remained silent.

At his apprehensiveness, Mary stood up to face him properly. Still remaining close to the books she took a deep breath for strength and courage, before confronting her father further. Her voice was steady and resolute and her posture composed and dignified as she stood her ground unwaveringly. Yet her tone was remarkably conciliatory. Robert had to remind himself that he was actually speaking to his daughter.

"May I remind you, that had it not been for Matthew and the inheritance from Mr Swire, we would not have the luxury of currently residing in this house. As his wife and as per his will, it is now my responsibility to oversee that this investment runs as efficiently as possible for our son."

Robert could not find fault with any of her points. She had argued her case articulately and effectively. But he was still uneasy.

"Where has my little girl gone?" He whispered wistfully, more to himself than to Mary.

"She's not here anymore papa," she answered thoughtfully. "You lost her a long time ago."

"You taught Matthew what to do and he put his whole heart into helping Downton however he could. I would appreciate it if you would do the same for me papa."

Robert gave his daughter a weak smile and wandered over to the window, hand clasped behind his back. Mary watched him move, her gaze then moving downwards sombrely, as she fidgeted with her fingers which were clasped together in front of her, suddenly feeling like his lost little girl.

Neither spoke for some time. Both were lost in their thoughts; thoughts which were intertwined and connected. Focusing on one man and reflecting on his absence.

"I never wanted this for you," Robert said regretfully.

Mary looked up, her firm demeanour now more sullen and forlorn. She was unclear what part of this arrangement he was exactly referring to.

"I wanted you and Matthew to be happy together. To live on in this house and watch over it until you were old and grey."

He half turned to face her. Tears glistened in his eyes. Mary fought to look away. But she couldn't.

"Neither of you deserved this," he admitted, his tone bordering on anger.

"We don't always get our just desserts," Mary said softly, her eyes roaming the room as she seemingly resigned herself to her fate. "But I need to continue what Matthew started, for our son."

Robert stood stunned as he heard the words uttered by his own mother repeat themselves unintentionally on his daughter's lips; or perhaps intentionally, he wasn't sure.

"You'll always be my little girl," he smiled sadly. "And I will help you in any way I can."

Mary nodded, and could feel the hot and heaving sensation of tears forming within her. She had a multitude of emotions swirling inside of her. But at this moment, she could expect nothing else from her father. But it was so much more than she expected.

"Thank you papa," she breathed. She made to go over to him, but stopped as she heard the door open and immediately composed herself.

"I apologise for interrupting, milord, but I've been informed that the little one has awoken milady," Carson bowed, but his expression remained compassionate.

"Of course, thank you Carson," Mary nodded, making her way over to the door, glancing one more time at the books.

"Mary," her father called, before she left the room. When he had her attention he added gently, "Give it a bit more time, please."

Mary was expressionless as she looked at her father. Without responding, she turned and left. Carson went with her.

Climbing the stairs, she reflected on their conversation. She knew it was too soon. She had known as soon as she entered the study. But there would never be a right time to start, she mused. It needed to be done; for her husband, for her son and for herself.

In his will, Matthew had written astonishing words; simple in their description but phenomenal in their impact. Extraordinary words that moved her in a way that only Matthew could. Words that would inscribe themselves on her heart and immerse themselves into her very being, where she would take them with her always. Words to anchor and give her the extra strength and encouragement she silently craved.

Oh how she loved him desperately and overwhelmingly. More than she ever thought she could love.

It ached knowing that Matthew would no longer be able to see through his vision for Downton. But she could. She didn't have Matthew alongside her, but he believed in her and trusted her implicitly to continue his vision for their son; she wouldn't let either of them down.

Mary was a woman entering a man's world. But as she held her little man in her arms and he looked fascinatingly into her eyes, she found that she wasn't frightened anymore. The two most important men in her life had complete faith in her and that gave her strength.

Maybe it could wait another day. But she wouldn't give her father the satisfaction of knowing that.

* * *

_TBC..._


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